Can't Trust You With Me
by Hakey Dodolick
Summary: Rose doesn't have the confidence to be her own person. Scorpius doesn't understand who he really is. Perhaps by finding each other, Rose will learn how to trust, and Scorpius will learn how to be himself.
1. One: 짝사랑

Fourth period Potions. Rose shuffled through the crowded hallway, descending slowly into the dungeon. The other students filtered out, and as time approached the beginning of class, the crowd thinned. A flash of blond hair amongst the other students caught her eye. Her eyes rolled to the side, and she pretended not to have noticed. On the way into the classroom, by accident, she brushed against his arm, catching his scent. A tingling sensation spread from her nose down through to her toes. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He hadn't noticed her. The feeling of sharp disappointment didn't show on her face. She walked weakly to her table, hanging her bookbag on its right edge. She pulled the list of necessary ingredients from her Potions book, and turned to the side of the classroom to gather them.

At the ingredients rack, she paused, inspecting the jar of toad blisters placed in the center of the row. How frustrating it was to never pass the barrier of her own cowardice. She always chose passiveness over assertion, as it was never truly worth fighting for herself. Approaching Scorpius was an impossibility, and talking to him entirely out of the question. Thus, her admiration would never be fulfilled, unless he made the first move. And she knew _that_ was never going to happen. Her secret, therefore, was hers to maintain, and hers to eventually end. The toad blisters stared balefully at her. She scowled.

"Were you going to use all of this?" a clear voice interrupted her thoughts.

She glanced away from the jar of toad blisters. "Sorry, what?"

It was a fellow Gryffindor whose face Rose vaguely recalled but whose name, like most, had not been important enough to remember. The girl tossed her head, smiling politely. The movement caused the blonde curls framing her face to swish against her eyelashes.

Rose blinked.

"I asked whether you were going to use all of this?"

Her statement had been phrased as a question. Rose nodded slowly, head still clouded by her thoughts.

"No, I'm not. You can take some if you'd like," she said quietly. Her voice felt as muddled as her mind.

The girl took a generous amount of the crushed dandelion petal Rose had carefully measured before. Rose sighed as she walked away. She turned to measure out more. She glanced at the pot on the ingredients rack labeled "crushed dandelion petal." It was empty. The corner of her mouth twerked in resignation. She half-turned to walk back to her table, despite not having the correct ingredient proportions, and prepared to brew the potion regardless of incompletion.

She was stopped short by a tug at her sleeve. She glanced up into the cold, clear eyes of Scorpius Malfoy. Her heart skipped a beat, though her face remained under control, trained by years of practice.

"Hey," he said.

She waited patiently for him to continue. He smiled. Rose had little reaction, despite the appeal the smile added to his face. He used that same smile with everyone else.

"I saw you didn't have enough crushed dandelion petal," he said. "Have some of mine. I accidentally got too much."

Rose could tell that he had no more crushed dandelion petal than was required to correctly brew the potion.

"That's all right," she replied calmly. "I'll be fine with what I have."

Scorpius opened his mouth, as though he wanted to argue the validity of her statement, but decided against it. He shrugged, nodded, and brushed past her, returning to his own table. Turned away from the rest of the classroom, away from Malfoy, her eyelids fluttered shut. She took two deep breaths, and her heart steadied. In a moment, she had composed herself, and her eyes reopened. She gathered her ingredients, turned, and walked back to her table.

She placed the various bottles and beakers on the table. Albus looked over each ingredient as she set them down. When he saw the crushed dandelion petal, he looked up at her, a peculiar look on his face.

"Hey, Rose–" he began.

She shook her head, pursing her lips self-consciously. He sighed, chuckled lightly, and began preparing the ingredients. Rose flipped to the page containing the potion's recipe. She scanned the page, and began making the adjustments necessary to alter the other proportions to fit the proper amount of crushed dandelion petal. She had finished her revisions before Albus had finished all of his preparations, and he shook his head in admiration.

"You know," he said, "if you could just put all that mind power to real use, you could be really great."

Rose shrugged.

"If only," Albus continued, as he squeezed juice from the toad blisters into a beaker, "you didn't spend all your energy making up for . . . well, making up for not being confident enough to fix your own problems in the first place."

Rose flinched. He seemed to regret what he said as soon as it came out of his mouth–he had hit a sore spot.

"Look, Rose, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "You know I don't mean half the things that come out of my mouth."

She nodded passively. He returned to his work, and Rose turned the book towards him to show the necessary changes. He smiled, lighting the burner. The problem had been absorbed.

Rose cleared her throat. "Look," she said. "Could you start things up? I've gotta go to the loo."

Albus, focused on the potion, waved a dismissive hand in her direction.

"Fine, fine. Just make sure you're back for the second half of class. I've got an essay due next period, and I have another three inches to go."

Rose nodded, ducking out of the room. She walked for a bit, feeling suffocated by the dank air. Once out of the dungeons, she breathed in heavily, mouth turning up in a grimacing smile. She looked up at the empty hallway through lowered lashes. Her knees began knocking together. She dipped into a nearby broom closet, pulled a bucket against a wall, and sat on it roughly.

Tears leaked out of her eyes. Her breaths shortened. She fumbled for her wand, sent a silencing charm towards the door, tried sliding it back into a pocket. Her hand was shaking too much. She let the wand slip to the ground. Her chest tightened. She ran a hand through her hair, placed another against her forehead. The first sob forced its way through her throat. She began rocking back and forth against the wall.

Eventually, it was over. Her cheeks burned with dry tears. She checked her pocket watch. She had fifteen minutes before she had to be back in class.

Rose grabbed her wand up from the ground, pointing it towards her face.

"Scourgify. Turgidius Reducto. Erubescerio Reducto."

She took a moment to compose herself, ending it with one determined outward breath. She removed the silencing charm from the door, pocketing her wand, and walked into the hallway with renewed energy. She returned to the Potions room, attracting few glances as she walked through the door, and returned to her seat. Albus acknowledged her presence with a slight nod. He was busily brewing the potion, which seemed to be about halfway done.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, still looking at the cauldron, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Rose smiled dolefully. "Places."

He snorted. She glanced at the page. Albus seemed to have followed the directions reasonably well, but she noticed a few errors from the way the potion was looking. She grabbed a pinch of grated hippogriff claw, sprinkling it into the surface of the potion. Albus squinted at her. She smiled again. He shrugged, seemingly deciding that her judgment was more trustworthy than any he could have come up with.

"Hey," Rose said. "Want me to take over? You'll be reaching the half-way point in about seven stirs."

He nodded, finished the stirs, and stood from his seat.

"Here, let's switch."

She sat in his chair, he sat in hers. He pulled a roll of parchment from his bookbag, hanging on the edge of his side of the table. She added another couple of ingedients to the potion. They settled into familiar silence.

As Rose became immersed in her work, she didn't notice the time passing. At last, she finished her potion, and, careful to use padded dragon gloves when handling the cauldron, poured it into the appropriate flask. She brought it to the front of the classroom, where Professor Morgan was busy grading third-year essays.

"Incorrigible . . ." he muttered. "It's their third year here, and they don't know a thing about the difference between fell and fallen . . ."

Rose placed the flask on the desk. He looked up, slightly startled by the sound.

"Ah, yes, Miss Weasley," he smiled. He peered over crooked reading glasses at her creation.

"Fantastic work, by its color and texture," he mused. He cocked his head to the side, measuring the flask with his eyes. "But it does not seem to be the amount prescribed by the book."

She nodded.

He snorted. "Care to explain?"

"Well," she said, "I thought it might be good to practice my conversion skills."

"And were you successful?"

Her mouth turned up a rare, genuine smile. "I'll let you be the judge of that."

He snickered. "Fine, it passes the preliminary inspection. You'll know your grade by next class."

Rose nodded again, returning to her seat. Albus was still hurriedly jotting the last few sentences of his essay. Glancing over his shoulder, she could tell that he hadn't put much thought into it. She shrugged and began clearing the instruments and unused ingredients off the table, returning materials that could be reused to the ingredients rack. Other students filtered up to the front, turning in finished potions.

She peeked across the classroom at Scorpius. The Gryffindor girl had sidled over to his table, gushing excitedly about his performance in the last Quidditch match. As Rose recalled, he had never actually played on the field. From what Rose knew, Slytherin used him as a strategist, and nothing more - his brains were more of an asset than his brawn - he seemed accommodating, nonetheless. Bits of their conversation filtered through the room, and from what she heard, he remained coldly courteous as always.

The bell rung twice, signaling twenty minutes to the next class period. Her eyes followed his figure by habit, as he walked out of the classroom, as she passed it two turns later in the hallway. If he looked her way, she would avert her gaze elsewhere, pretending that she hadn't noticed him. She wanted to be oblivious, to live without analyzing everything, to be noticed rather than to notice. Rose glanced again out of the corner of her eye at the object of her unreciprocated affections, watching as he passed. She thought for a moment that it must be nice not to have to worry about others' perceptions. It must be nice to be liked, free from the anxiety of one-sided love.

She sighed, hefted the strap of her bookbag higher on her shoulder, and stepped through the swirling crowd of students, towards the library. She had an essay to write for Herbology and three pages of notes to study for the next Charms exam.


	2. Two: 비밀

Upon entering the library, Rose scanned the study section. Several tables were empty. She assumed that the good fortune was caused by the bout of good weather Hogwarts had recently been experiencing. She chose a secluded table in a quiet corner near the bookshelves. Perfect for studying.

She sat in one of the chairs, pulled _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_ from her bookbag, and began to write the required sixteen inches on self-fertilizing shrubs. Rose had barely dipped her quill in the ink when Albus shuffled into the seat across from her. She looked up, opened her mouth to make some remark about skiving off class, decided against it, and returned to her essay.

As he was setting his books on the table, Albus laughed in amusement. "What, no questions about Divination?"

Rose ignored him.

"Ah, I see," he said, a smile in his voice. "Since Divination doesn't count as a real subject, you aren't counting me not going as real skiving."

No response. Albus sighed happily, opening his own Herbology book and taking out a wrinkled role of spare parchment.

"I turned in my essay, said some jibberish about finding myself in the library, and here I am."

He grabbed a quill out of her bag, dipped it in some ink, and scratched his name in the top right corner of the parchment.

"Well, might as well start on my Herbology essay too. You never know, self-fertilizing shrubs may very will be the difference between life and death. I'm sure many an Auror has faced this question at some point in his life."

Seeing that Rose was not to be distracted by his playing, Albus chuckled halfheartedly, turning resignedly to his paper. They wrote in silence for several minutes, Rose making marginally greater progress than Albus, when he set his quill down and observed her tirelessnes, as she worked to finish the essay. A minute passed, and he continued to stare at her thoughtfully.

"I see you watching him, you know," he finally said.

Rose looked up sharply. She set her quill on the table swiveled her head around to see if anyone was listening. Satisfied that everyone in the room was completely uninterested, she turned again to Albus. She exhaled slowly. "Watching?"

"Malfoy."

She raised an eyebrow. Her expression was carefully controlled. Albus swallowed.

"You watch him out of the corner of your eye," he accused.

She dropped her gaze and remained quiet, carefully studying a loose thread on the edge of her robes. The books were ignored; writing had been superseded by her intention to seem indifferent.

"You do," he said stubbornly. "You might think nobody notices, but they do."

Rose looked at him doubtfully.

"Well, at least I do," he amended.

She shook her head, returning her concentration to the loose thread. She reached a finger out to pick at it.

"Hey," he said. When she didn't respond, he reached a hand across the table and waved it at her. "Hey, listen to me."

Her eyes rolled back to his face. Her hands folded politely into her lap, she sat up in her chair, and she set a strong gaze in the direction of his face.

Albus nodded. "Right. Well. I've known for quite some time."

Another raise of the eyebrow.

"I want to help you, Rose."

She bit her lip in apprehension. She had to be careful about what she said, or the whole truth might be exposed prematurely. After a moment of thought, Rose hesitantly opened her mouth.

"Say–" she began. "Say, in theory, that what you are saying were true. Why," she asked, "if you've known for so long–why would you want to help me now?"

"Honestly, I've kept my mouth shut about it, because it was your business."

She shook her head. "But that doesn't make any sense. If this–" she faltered, lowering her voice. "If this . . . theoretical situation . . . were my business, why might you feel the need to become involved? Why now, and not when you first–theoretically–found out?"

"Because of what happened today during Potions."

Rose looked at Albus for a long moment. She decided to continue pretending to be clueless.

"What happened today during Potions?" she asked in an innocent tone.

Albus returned the stare.

"Rose, you never talk to anyone about anything."

She didn't respond.

"I've known you for all my life, and I still don't feel like I _know_ you," Albus continued.

Again, she started to pick at the loose thread.

"Don't you feel alone?" he finished impatiently. "Don't you feel isolated?"

A knot flew to her throat.

"Don't you _feel_ anything?"

A light sensation filled her stomach. The only way it could come out was through her throat, which was blocked by that damned knot.

"Of course I _feel_, Albus. Everyone _feels_," she hissed.

Rose feared that if she spoke more, the knot would explode.

Breathing heavily, she swallowed the knot and resumed speaking. "Even if I cared to share my _feelings_ with you, Albus, it would be impossible for you to even _fathom_ my situation."

"But–" he began.

He was silenced by a finger. Rose became ever more short of breath. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, and she rubbed at it furiously.

"Now," she choked out. "I want you to forget that today ever happened."

Albus nodded, a frightened look on his face.

"I want you to forget that you ever noticed anything, theoretical or not."

He nodded again.

"I want you to never, _ever_, bring this up again. Is that understood?"

It seemed that Albus could do nothing _but_ nod. Rose wiped again at the tears that had come out of her eyes. She slid the essay she had been working on into her Herbology book and placed it in the bookbag. Whipping out her wand, she twirled it in the direction of the quills and ink bottle she had used to write, and willed them neatly beside the book. She hoisted the bag over her shoulder, put her wand in her pocket, and paused to say one last thing to her frightened cousin.

"Please, Albus. Do not try to understand me. It's for both of our own benefit."

With that, she turned on her heel, head held high in the air, and walked out of the library.

* * *

Rose didn't hear his footsteps until she reached the end of the hallway. She shook her head, surprised at how well she knew his character. It never did take Albus long to bounce back. This time, though she thought that she had been as threatening to him as possible, he still found some way to excuse his actions and to ignore her warning. She rounded the corner. He caught up quickly, and before she could count five steps, Rose felt a hand on her shoulder. She sighed, turning around. Albus took his hand off of her shoulder, breathing heavily.

"I–" he started. "I'm not–"

"You're not finished," Rose calmly interrupted. "Understood."

Albus seemed confused, as though he had won her over too easily.

"I was being stupid," Rose sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't want to listen to you. But I guess I'll hear you out."

He shook his head. "There's … got to be … some sort of trick," he said, his breath breaking the sentence into short bursts.

She sighed again. "Obviously, not doing anything about it isn't working. It's too painful–it's too painful to continue keeping everything to myself."

His eyes narrowed, still dubious.

"I can't do this anymore," she murmured. Then, more clearly, "What happened today–that wasn't the first time that's happened. Whatever I'm doing–which is nothing, I guess–I'm tired of it."

"And you think I can help you," Albus said doubtfully.

"At this point, you're really my only option."

He glanced around the corridor, checking to see if anyone was around to listen. They were alone.

"I don't feel comfortable talking about it here," Rose said, voicing his thoughts. "It's too likely that someone will hear us. Let's go outside. It's supposed to be warm, isn't it?"

"Surprisingly good weather for October," Albus agreed. "But there'll be too many people out by the lake."

"Right, then. Let's go to the girls' toilets on the first floor."

Albus cocked his head. "What, you mean Moaning Myrtle's?"

Rose nodded. "It's the only place where we can get some decent privacy."

"All right, then," he said. "I suppose it _is_ the safest option we've got."


	3. Three: 대화

In the deserted first-floor girls' toilets sat Rose and Albus, each facing the other, leaning against the stall doors on either side of the room. They spoke in low voices, careful not to be overheard by anyone else.

"I feel like I don't really know you, to be perfectly honest," Albus said quietly. "You never say anything more than required of you."

"I'm perfectly sociable."

He shook his head. "That's not the issue. You don't have any friends, Rose."

She opened her mouth to interject, but was cut off by his voice.

"Not any_ real_ friends. Tell me, Rose, when was the last time you told someone a secret?"

Rose pursed her lips. "Today."

"Today doesn't count."

She squinted her eyes, thinking.

"What I mean is," he continued, "you don't ever tell anyone anything important. Not about you, anyways."

She sighed, looking away. He had her pinned. She opened her mouth to speak, but it felt impossible to say anything that wouldn't seem superficial. Albus waited patiently. She cleared her throat.

"I just don't know what to do," she said, hesitantly. "It's like I'm stuck in limbo – I've entered willingly into this mess of feelings, I stay willingly. Every time I try to break out, or to do something about it, I find I'm caught."

Rose felt a lump lodge into the back of her throat. A tear slid out of one of her eyes. She caught it with the tip of her finger.

"And then this happens," she sniffed, pointing the finger in his direction. "My feelings only get more concentrated as time goes on. I've become a sniveling mess."

Albus had taken a thoughtful expression. "So why do you hide it? Not just from–_him_–from everyone? From me?"

Rose shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered. Shook it again. "I don't know."

She took out her wand, waving it lightly in the direction of her eyes as the tears began to flow more quickly. As each wave of the wand dried her face, tears seeped from her eyes once more, requiring yet another wave. She grit her teeth and set the wand on the floor, deeming her sleeve to be more useful.

Eventually, after a long silence, Rose seemed to have run out of tears. She didn't bother fixing the red in her eyes or the swell in her cheeks. Albus had already seen everything; there was no reason to hide it.

He sighed. "So, what are you going to do about this?"

"What, about me crying?"

"About the crying, the keeping everything to yourself," Albus said. "The pretending everything is all right when it clearly isn't."

"What, and you would want for me to do the opposite?" Rose asked.

He scratched at the back of his neck. "What's the opposite?"

"Oh, you know," she said, eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Dramatic confession, heartbreak, depression, family intervention."

Albus rolled his eyes in return. "I don't mean anything that drastic. Maybe if you started small – you know, something like this conversation. I was surprised you even agreed to talk to me."

"Yes, well," she exhaled lightly. "I had run out of options."

"Is it that bad?" he murmured.

Rose set her gaze directly on his. "It's that bad."

Silence again. Neither looked at the other, each immersed in his or her own personal thoughts. It was Albus who broke the silence again.

"Are you sure that you really… that you really… _love_ him?"

She smiled ruefully. "I'm quite sure."

"Well—" he began, a thought cutting through his voice.

They were silent for another long moment.

"Well, what?" Rose asked.

"Well–are you sure it isn't just something you've become used to?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Are you sure that Scorpius isn't just some obsession that you've, um, you've–held up to this ridiculously high standard?"

Rose looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, why do you even _like_ him? Frankly, it just … it just doesn't seem to make any sense."

Her expression turned thoughtful. "You don't understand why it's him?"

"Sure," Albus said.

"Well," she sighed, "I'm not sure I quite understand any better than you."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "You don't like someone for any particular reason, right?"

He looked confused. "Isn't it what makes you like him? That particular reason?"

Rose shook her head. "No."

"Then, why like him more than anyone else?"

She picked up her wand, twiddling it in her hands. "I don't know," she said.

Albus squinted his eyes. "I just don't understand that."

Rose sighed again. "I take it you've never felt this way."

He rubbed at the corner of his eye. "I'm not sure whether I have or haven't."

She smiled dolefully. "You've dated plenty."

"Right," he said, cheeks reddening. "You don't necessarily have to feel that way to want to get off with them."

She snorted. The wand dropped into a resting position on her lap.

"Still," he said. "Every girl I've ever dated has had something I've liked, something that I see as out of the ordinary."

"What, like a hump for a back?" Rose teased.

Albus chuckled. "You know what I mean. But what is it about Malfoy…"

She shook her head again. "I guess that for me, it isn't that simple. It's everything about him, and nothing, that makes him peculiar."

"In what respect?"

Rose ran a hand through her hair. "The way he doesn't talk to anybody. No—the way he doesn't talk to anybody, but still seems popular. The way he acts and says things that remind me so precisely of myself that it frightens me."

He squinted at her.

"The way," she whispered, "he seems to be just alone as I am, on the inside, and just as lost."

Albus smiled. "Now that," he said, "is what I was trying to figure out."

She slid her wand into her pocket. "I suppose," she continued, voice still quiet, "that he also has a nice pair of eyes."

He laughed. "So, what are you planning to do about it?"

"About what?" she asked.

"You can't just stay in the same place forever."

A crinkle formed between her eyebrows. "I can't?"

"You can't," he said, laughing again.

Rose furtively looked towards the door, straightening her robes as though she were preparing to leave.

"Wait—" Albus held out his hand.

Rose returned to leaning against the stall door. "What?"

"I have an idea."

She exhaled slowly. "Albus, I'm sure whatever you're about to say will just—"

He interrupted her mid-sentence. "What-if-I-told-you-that-I-know-how-you-can-fix-your-problems—"

"Problems?" Rose asked.

Albus took a deep breath. "I think I know how you can sort this out."

"How?"

He breathed deeply once more.

"You have thirty seconds to explain it to me," she said. He blinked.

"What if—what if you stopped caring?"

Rose looked puzzled. "What?"

"What if you stopped caring what other people thought about you?" he asked, pausing carefully between each word.

The question seemed to make her more puzzled. "What _if_ I stopped caring about what other people thought about me?"

"The way I see it," Albus said, "Malfoy already has girls swooning all about him. They like that – mysterious thing he has going."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "O-kay…"

"Well, and if everyone's falling over themselves, trying to grab some piece of him, wouldn't you think he'd become bored by all that?"

Rose shook her head. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

Albus gave a short laugh. "Well, you're nothing like that, are you?"

She shrugged.

"If you'd just be yourself, not just Malfoy would want to know you," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well—" he paused. "You've shared quite a lot with me, today. I don't hate you."

Rose snorted.

"Actually," he continued, "I rather like you quite a bit more, now."

She nervously tapped her fingers against the ground. "So—so, how does that come into practice?"

"Hmm?"

"How do you do it?" she asked. "Be yourself, I mean. Do I have emotional break-downs every class, or—"

"What, that?" Albus laughed. "Um, I'd say, whenever you think of something you want to say, say it."

"What if it's offensive?"

He snickered. "What offensive things might Rose Weasley think about?"

She bit her lip. "True."

The sound of his laughter filled the toilets. "Ask Rose Weasley what offensive things fill her mind, and she has nothing to say?"

"All right, all right, I get it."

Albus quieted. "But, that is the best way to prevent yourself from closing off from the world."

"Yes, well, I'll think about trying it."

"You'll have to start bit by bit," he said.

"Right."

The two got up to leave. Rose brushed herself off.

"I think you could be quite popular," he persisted. "You're a very likeable person, Rose."

"Right," she repeated. "I'm not quite sure I want to be popular, though."

"S'aright," Albus said. "It's not for everyone.

The two continued talking as they left the toilets—Albus albeit more lively than Rose—but to other students, it seemed as though they had been close for much longer than a mere few hours.

Later that day, as Rose was walking to the owlery to eat dinner alone, she realized that she had revealed more to Albus within a single conversation than she had ever revealed to anyone. She smiled at the thought. At least being understood by a member of her family was one step forwards. Perhaps, little by little, her true self could eventually be revealed.

**a/n: Yeah, sorry, I know that the chapter ending was lame. And anti-climactic.**


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